Snowflake Designs
by pandorabox82
Summary: Miranda discovers a new designer that she absolutely has to know more about. Will her actions result in the largest bloodbath that Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week has ever seen? And will the BAU be able to save a ghost from their past before she is lost to them once more? Crossover with Criminal Minds!
1. Chapter 1

Miranda hummed as she read Andrea's latest piece in the Mirror. She was surprised that the woman had chosen to write a fluff piece on fashion after seven years as a heavy hitting issues reporter. Now there was this piece about an up and coming designer who no one knew anything about. She kicked herself mentally as she read about the designer, and how little they actually knew about her. If it even was a her. The single accompanying sketch told Miranda everything she needed to know. She was going to hunt this designer down and feature them in a full spread in the next issue of _Runway_. That was all there was to it.

"Emily! Come!" she called out, pulling off her glasses and sucking on the arm as she stared at the sketch.

"Yes, Miranda?" the woman asked, trying to appear placid. Miranda, though, could read her like a book, and knew that she was wondering what was going on.

"I need you to do some digging for me. Keep Allison on the phones all day, and if she needs assistance, call in Hazel."

Emily weaved a little on her feet, obviously trying to figure out what Miranda was leading up to. "All right. But what sort of digging am I going to be doing, Miranda?"

"There's a new designer on the scene, and I want to know everything about them by the end of the workday today. Here, the name is Snowflake Designs, and no one knows who is behind the line. Your job is to suss that out for me. And if you don't…"

She let the veiled threat hang in the air, and Emily nodded as she gulped, turning on her heel and scurrying back out to her desk. As Miranda watched, she sent off a rapid fire message to Allison, and then bent over her keyboard, obviously wanting to get straight to work. A wry smile crossed her lips as she leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs atop her desk as she picked the newspaper up once more, staring at the dress. It was elegant, timeless, and Miranda had to have it. And there was one person who could get her close to that goal, the one person she felt disinclined to talk to ever again.

Wrinkling her nose a bit, she slid her legs off the desk and strode over to the door, closing it with a forceful click. She only hoped that she could keep a tight enough rein on her emotions so as not to raise her voice above a measured tone. Taking a deep breath, she pulled out her personal cell phone and scrolled through her contact list.

There, towards the bottom, was her name, and her finger hovered above it, as if she were unable to just take that simple step and talk to the woman. "For God's sake, Miranda, it's just a simple phone call, at her place of work. It's not like you're going to proposition her."

The words seemed to steel her nerves and she pressed Andrea's work number. It rang three times before she heard a familiar, harried, voice. "Sachs speaking."

"Andrea. This is Miranda Priestly. I just saw the article that you wrote in the Mirror this morning, and I simply must pick your brain about it. How about we lunch at Smith & Wollensky? Say at eleven?"

There was a slight pause before Andrea spoke once more. "Miranda, they don't open until half past the hour."

"They don't for the plebeians, Andrea. How many times did I have to tell you that when you worked for me. When you're someone like me, you can get what you want. And I always get what I want."

There was a slight catch in her voice as she thought about the one thing that had gotten away from her, the person on the other end of the line. And she was waiting with almost bated breath for the answer. "Fine. If it will get you out of my hair sooner, I will lunch with you. See you in a few."

Andrea had hung up before Miranda could respond. Arching an eyebrow, she dialed the number for Smith & Wollensky, arranging for them to be ready for them at eleven. As soon as she hung up with them, she looked up into Emily's wide eyes. "And what can I do for you?" she quietly said, trying to make certain that her face was a mask of indifference.

"Why are you even interested in this designer, Miranda? You cannot possibly be interested in a designer who makes clothes for fat people! If this gets out, it will ruin the credibility of _Runway_. Is that really what you want?"

Emily's voice had risen to levels that only dogs could hear, and Miranda cut her off with a wave of her hand, indicating for her to sit. "Whatever are you going on about, Emily?" she asked, her voice dropping a few octaves in an attempt to calm the woman.

"I looked up this Snowflake Designs. It seems that her first line was not only for plus size women, it was garish and full of hideous color and patterns. I called the website up on my iPad so that you could see for yourself the travesty that is this, this, dreck."

Miranda fought not to roll her eyes at the woman's over the top histrionics and held out her hand expectantly. Emily slapped the tablet down onto her palm and then sank down in the seat, forgetting about her posture as she pouted. "They named their first line 'Penelope'," she murmured as she looked at the cacophony of color. There was something whimsical and gorgeous in the chaos, something that Miranda hadn't seen on any runway in ages. "This collection was designed with one person in mind, and if I were a gambling woman, I would bet that this woman is named Penelope."

A low groan erupted from Emily's throat before she could stop it. "That is practically impossible, you realize. There are millions of people named that!"

Miranda pursed her lips and tried not to shake her head. "Why don't you first try a nominal Google search? I'm certain that there are not millions upon millions of women named Penelope in the states. That's all."

Emily's entire boy slumped more before she stiffly stood up, giving Miranda a stiff nod before she clacked from the room. And it took everything in Miranda not to cackle with unmitigated glee when her first assistant growled at Allison before furiously tapping away on her keyboard. "Fine, it's twenty thousand! I will be looking for the proverbial needle for ages!" she loudly said moments later, and still, Miranda kept herself under control, not wanting to give away how much pleasure this little exercise was giving her.

Sighing, she picked up the tablet once more and scrolled through the collection. There was something pricking at the back of her mind the longer she gazed at the models, and then it hit her. They were all wearing cat's eye glasses, another little quirk of this collection. And it made her wonder if the muse in question would also be wearing glasses. "Emily," she smoothly called out, "something that might help your search. The Penelope in question will be wearing glasses, and most likely they will be in the same style as the models."

This just made Emily groan once more and Miranda steepled her fingers together, waiting for the lunch ahead of her.


	2. Chapter 2

At fifteen minutes to eleven, Miranda sailed into Smith & Wollensky, a tiny smirk gracing her face as she was ushered back to her usual, private, booth to await Andrea. "Can I get you anything, Miranda?" the waitress asked, and she looked up at the woman.

"Scotch, neat. And a glass of water. No lemon. That's all." She dismissed the woman with a hand wave and set aside the menu, knowing exactly what she would be having.

"I should have known that you would be here already. You never could stand being the last to arrive." Miranda looked up into Andrea's smiling face and fought not to smile in return. "Really, did you have to make up some flimsy excuse to say that you missed me?"

As she slid into the other side of the booth, Miranda tried not to look at her hands. While she hadn't heard anything about the woman getting married in the years they were apart, there was still the possibility that she had kept it private. "If I missed you, I would never let it show. To anyone."

"Somehow, I had a feeling you'd say that," Andrea murmured as the waitress set down two glasses of water and Miranda's scotch. She went to pick up the highball, only to see Andrea tighten her lips just a little. "I'd like an unsweetened iced tea, hold the lemon. And the broiled salmon. Miranda will have the porterhouse steak, rare. That's all."

Miranda smirked approvingly before sipping at her scotch. "You seem to have retained a few of the things I taught you. How has your job been treating you?"

"Well. I've been able to do some of the things that I always wanted to do in my career. Until this morning."

"Ah yes, our mysterious mutual designer. Whyever did your editor want you to write that piece of fluff? I've come to expect more from your writing than that."

Andrea's eyes grew large as she sipped at the water in front of her. Finally, she swallowed and scrunched her lips up a little as she shrugged. "Honestly? I have no idea. She just placed this folder on my desk and told me to run with it. I had a difficult time coming up with enough words to fill to column space, what with the information I was given."

"When is her show?"

"She, and I think the designer is a she, based on all my research, scored one of the plum spots. She's showing right before Michael Kors Fall show."

Their food arrived, as if the chef had known exactly what they would be ordering before she had even stepped foot inside the building, and Miranda smiled at the attention to detail. She went to take another sip of scotch, and Andrea frowned a little once more. "Is there a problem?"

"It's not you, it's me. Can we leave it at that?"

Miranda nodded as she set aside her glass, a small wave of understanding sweeping over her brain. "So, do you have any idea what her new line will be called?"

"The sketch that was with the folder was entitled Emily. So, another feminine name. Why do you even want to know?"

It seemed that Andrea could still cut to the heart of the matter, and Miranda took a bite of her steak to give herself some time to think. "I don't like being kept in the dark, and I want to give this designer the recognition they deserve. The first line was chaotically gorgeous, even if it was exclusively for plus size women. It was innovative, creative, and I simply must have her in _Runway_. And if I have to work with you to do that, then so be it. I think that we can both be adults about this."

Andrea smiled at her as she shook her head. "Really?"

"Yes. Really."

"All right, I'll team up with you, but only because I want to know more about whom the designer is as well." There was a faint blush in Andrea's cheeks, and she wondered what brought that about. "So, now that we have that squared away, how have you been?"

Miranda was a little taken aback by the casual slip into small talk, something she didn't reall" There was a faint blush in Andrea's cheeks, and she wondered what brought that about. "So, now that we have that squared away, how have you been?"

Miranda was a little taken aback by the casual slip into small talk, something she didn't really do, but knew that she would have to play by Andrea's rules if she wanted the flow of information to continue. "Life has treated me well in the past eight years. I have embraced being single and find myself happier for it. And you?"

It took a few beats for Andrea to catch up to her, and Miranda used the time to eat another bite of her meal, never taking her eyes off the younger woman. "I am happily single at the moment, also. Nate and I gave our relationship another spin on the merry-go-round, but even long distance was too close for the hurt between us. If my soulmate is out there, I just have to trust that they'll be revealed to me at the right time."

She should have known that Andrea would have a romantic's heart, and she felt her smile soften a little at the notion. "I think mine died before I found them. It's better this way," she whispered, picking up her water and taking a long drink. "So, would you like to head back to _Runway _with me and help Emily in the gathering of information, or would you like to meet when she brings the Book by?"

"Who said we'd be working together?"

Miranda cocked her head to one side, arching her eyebrow a little. "Really, Andrea, have you forgotten that I always get what I want, when I want it? Fashion week is in less than a fortnight, and I want to have her in the pages of October's issue. If that is to happen, we need to move quickly and together. Two heads will be much better than one in that regards."

A soft bark of laughter escaped Andrea's throat as she grinned widely. "That's the Miranda I remember. All right, so in fourteen days, we have to move mountains and find the proverbial needle in a hay stack."

She nodded and dared to meet Andrea's eyes. There was something soft and open there, something that she hadn't seen directed at her in a very long time, and she could feel her own blush stain her cheeks as she looked back down at her food, deciding to focus on that. "So, which do you prefer? Coming now or later?"

Andrea giggled a little at her statement, and Miranda gasped at what she had said. "Well, I always prefer coming as soon as possible, but in this case, I think I'll hold off until later. Do you still have the Book delivered at nine?"

"Or thereabouts. So, I'll see you at the townhouse around…?"

"Quarter to. That will give me some time to get things pulled together. Do you want me to bring by dessert?"

"Certainly. You still remember those pastries I adore?" Andrea nodded. "Good, then I'll expect to see them with you at quarter to nine tonight." She pulled out her credit card and settled the bill while Andrea finished eating. "Have a good afternoon," she murmured as she slipped out of the booth. Somehow, she knew that it was going to be a very long day.


End file.
